Benzo Benny Skeddallin' Anon
Benzo Benny is on the move again. He's on his way to Abu Dhabi Nov. 26, the weekend after American Thanksgiving. He'd been offered a few full time jobs last year but the wages are not what they used to be where he currently lives. Instead, he chose to take the occasional sewer job that would be easy to walk out on. His boot heels left many places of employment last year on Wednesday never to clip clop down the halls again.
He'd briefly worked at a Brit Language Institute and got along well while the chubbette blond harpy was away "on holiday" as the once but not future Great Britains say. When the chubbette winged micro dragon came back to work, her fevered brain zeroed in on Benzo Benny. She rummaged through his rubbish bins, snuck around corners to see if he had made it to class on time--making herself late for her own class in the process.
His class began a few minutes late because his students had been reassigned to a different room on Wedneday past, then re-reassigned to the original room on saturday morning, last minute. Miss Adventure and her chubby thighs must have been squeezing her fat ass through the vents to spy on Benny. She made a stab at being an authoritarian and tried to get him to bend over to pick up the soap. Bennie's attitude was basically, piss off--and that turned the lily white Rubenesque Robespierre a crimson shade of pale.
Half way through the first hour, Benny remembered with no increase in pulse rate or sweaty palms or panic rapid eye mo vements that he'd left the quiz zes in the photo-copy closet. Benny may be a Benzo-Haid, but he can scootch double time when he needs to. And scootched he did, taking the stairs three at a time up and nearly breaking his neck jumping every other step coming down. He must have left a class of grown Kuwaiti men for all of thirty seconds. They were not throwing spit balls at each othe when he returned and nobody had tried to nick the Panasonic tape player.
Class went well. The students all passed the quiz. Hands touched hearts as the students left the rom. Ma Salamas, Allahayeeks, Mashallahs were not in short supply.
Benny did the necessary paper work which had to be turned in at the end of each class period, stopped to take an OJ left ove from kid's summer camp and was about to leave when Fat Flabby Fanny stopped him at the door. She wanted a word with him and another supervisor type person--a nice Arab girl who works twice as hard as the Euros for half the pay.
I'll cut to the chase. before Annie's Fanny could get her knickers in a knot, before she could open her mouth wide enough to cram a donut in it in order to dress down the Yank, Benny tossed the attendance book on the desk told her Ma salama and discreetly displayed his salutating finger which layeth between the ring finger and the index finger in her face. She either didn't notice it or pretended not to notice it.. He also got a dig or two in concerning how petty authority was working her mind like a Bengali Street sweeper who hadn't seen one ducket in over six months for his labors.
Benny actually had a pleasant year slumming from one piss ant job to another waiting for the fall and university hiring season.
When he was offered a choice to stay in the magic Kingdom or go to Abu Dhabi for a little less than 150 US, plus the chance to stay in a five star hotel over looking the sea for a month while the new employers help him buy a car and find him and his lovely mizzus a proper villa, he thought about staying in the magic Kingdom for about the same amount of time it took you to read time.
He hasn't decided is he's got a brain tumor or if his father has died again(he is dead actually but it's been 18 years) to make B-line for the more hospitable surroundings and a decent check at the end of each month to boot..But knowing Benzo Benny, he'll be back in Kuwait in time for Turkey, just days before he hops on the Gulf Air bird for the Trucial Emirate. Lucky bastud.
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2 Comments:
I will say a prayer for you every night. It is what I do to people who cross my frame of reference like thieves in the night. You would tell me who you are but your steamer trunk full of fears prevents you. Your steamer trunk was a bit like Pandora’s Box in reverse. Only hope managed to desert you.
I suspect you live a sad, isolated life and that you probably do not want to recognize that the craving you feel for another drink after you've had one is normal. Drink is your friend. It washes away brain rot and assures you it is "they" and not "You."
You have always felt like you never fit in. Resentments and nebulous thought of revenge are such staples in a mind full of inexplicable fear, that you mistake them for ideas, dreams and musings. They seem more to you to be relalted to pride and this keeps you on a pink cloud of delusion.
You do not sleep well. Between three and four AM after tossing and turning all night, your heart races. You panic quietly and moan softly as you toss and turn on a bed provided to you by an employer. Suicidal; fleeing is considered-you will not be missed--but you are afraid that it will hurt like a bitch no matter which method you choose.
You used to masturbate with great frequency because you never learned how to approach and seduce members of the opposite sex. In addition, this shamed you because nobody ever got close enough to you to tell you its normal.
You are haunted by the past. You clearly remember bullies on playgrounds, their names and you do not think it is unusual to work repeatedly in your mind the one day when you will get your revenge.
Now that you are in your fifties and your pants sizes have expanded by ten sizes in the waist, now that you have lost hair, and what remains has turned white, remorse gains momentum in your life. One you thought you would go home one day and tell long, interesting stories about your travels to grandkids who beg you to repeat them over and again.
Your stories are worthless now.
Lately what has given you some shameful satisfaction is reading my blog or following my year of accepting temporary jobs until fall. It mighr disappoint yo somewhat to know that I have had lengthy moments of Cassandra singing because out of the fifty or so job interviews I went on last year, I met a lot of desperate Kuwaitis who hoped they could find someone like me--qualified, managerial experience, IT savvy and no sponsor. Big bucks may still been in store for me.--but first I had to build them a language school.
Your life is to be pitied for its glaring character defects, pointlessness, loneliness, cowardness, cyber stalking you because I thought your job offer was a joke. I top your resentment list because the one thimble full of self-esteem you get in life is when you interview and the interviewees, unlike me, who turned you down flat breached your thin veil of esteem. When my wife decided on her own to try to work thinks out, I went along. However, obviously from the rambling often-idiosyncratic Emails I sent you, you were quick enough to pick up my lack of enthusiasm. When I gave the Canadian company two months notice in order to take a more respectable job, and when I was terminated, the old' shameful satisfaction came back to you like a hungry mongrel.
If only you knew that I am coming into some big money because I sued and succesfully won, you would break out my voodoo doll tonight and cover me with pins.
Cheer up. God is not lost. In addition, he is not an enabler. May you find him now.
Curiouser and curiouser. Your tone is borderline amicable. He we met?
Then interviewer as aftually two interviewers--and American and a Brit, First older Benzo Beny describes interviewed me and dangled a diet red bull before me much as a carrot is used to pull the horse. But i am used to 1999 money. I used to be scorned by others when I said one of our implicit job descriptions in Kuwait a to make ourselves absolete. Obviously, sa soon as theyhad enough fluent locals willingn teach, the old law of supply and demand kicked in. For my part, i turned down a few offers because the pay was nothing. Worse than Koresa or Japan.
The free time is still a draw though.
Plus msny training companies have sprouted like freckles on s 12 year old red headed boy. If ever contract I was promised came through last year I would have been rich.
Anyway, I wonder who's life is so dull that they keep up with Oliver?
If I'm one of your foes, please give me the opportunity to make my amends to you (probably for somethinf foul that I said while drunk--I no longer drink--but I have many amends to mske to people.
Or did you just stumble upon me reading Q8T blogs?
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